


To Lead and Command

by Manda



Category: Star Trek: The Next Generation
Genre: BDSM, Corporal Punishment, Dom!Picard, Dominant Picard, F/M, Light BDSM, Spanking
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-06-16
Updated: 2014-06-16
Packaged: 2018-02-04 23:21:51
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,603
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1797088
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Manda/pseuds/Manda
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>I'm posting un-beta'd, apologies. Willing betas and those with constructive criticism/corrections please do get in touch!</p>
    </blockquote>





	1. Rebeya

**Author's Note:**

> I'm posting un-beta'd, apologies. Willing betas and those with constructive criticism/corrections please do get in touch!

It’d been early in his second year of command that Captain Jean-Luc Picard had decided to lapse the traditional modes of discipline favoured by The Federation. In that time, he’d had no cause to doubt his decision. On numerous occasions he’d even used the laudable relationship of his crewmen to espouse the lack of need for any formalised physical discipline; a practice he firmly believed to be an archaic, unnecessary and somewhat misplaced activity. And yet, he mused as he lent back in the chair of his ready room with a weary sigh, as of late he'd found his mind returning to the idea with worrying frequency. A particular member of bridge crew, temporarily assigned to The Enterprise, was struggling to .. he supposed it was the old Earth adage “get into the swing of things” . Her work was first rate, her decisions timely and well judged and she had a pleasing humility and respect for authority but something indefinable held her apart from the rest of the crew and left him unsettled. In times of adversity he needed to know how each and every member of his bridge crew would react. Any commander needed to know whose skills sharpened under pressure, whose decisions became too rash, who naturally lead and who naturally followed. It was only by knowing in advance how the whole hierarchy would play out that he felt he could do his duty and keep his ship and their crew safe. To him, however, Lieutenant Rebeya Anders remained a closed book. Picard knew that only through exposure to a genuine stressor would he see when, and how, she broke. Yet waiting until they were in danger or under attack was reckless, while constructing false peril for her was unethical. He returned to pondering if any potential holodeck simulations might be sufficient when he heard a visitor approach his door.

“Come” – he replied automatically,  
“Sir” – His visitor nodded in greeting as she stepped into his ready room. “Commander Riker said I could find you here. I hope I am not interrupting”  
“Not at all Anders” he replied remaining reclined at his desk and taking a moment to look at the individual before him. She stood firmly, a square near-masculine stance. Her long hair was simply braided in a somewhat old fashioned style that hung down her back. She held her hands, clasped, behind her and met his gaze easily, but with no defiance. “What was it you wished to see me about?”  
Momentarily she looked uncomfortable. Had he not been paying such close attention to her moments ago the slight shifts in her posturing would have gone unnoticed. A slight lift of the shoulders indicated she was wringing her hands behind her back now and her weight shifted slightly from leg to leg, almost imperceivable. Interesting. “Today, Lieutenant!” he added somewhat harshly and, to his surprise, at his stern tone she seemed to relax. Odd, he thought. He was not unaware of the unnerving effect his frustration could have on his subordinates, but to see it effect a calming reaction was certainly new.  
“Permission to speak freely, Sir?”  
“Permission granted Anders”  
“Rebeya, please”  
“As you wish, Rebeya, what is bothering you?” he said gesturing to the chair across from him. She sat.  
“Sir, I am concerned I am not well liked amongst the crew. That I am not settling in as you had hoped”  
He raised an eyebrow; perceptive, this one, and cleared his throat.  
“Well Ander.. Rebeya” he corrected “I have myself been pondering the same thing.” She suddenly looked crestfallen, not at all his intention, so he continued with alacrity “It is important to me, as Captain of this ship, to have the complete loyalty of all the men and women under my command” She made to speak but he lifted his hand to silence her. “I have no question of your loyalty” he continued “but I fear the chain of the command on The Enterprise is not what you are used to, and you may be having trouble settling into her rhythms. Would this be a fair assessment?”  
“Yes, Sir. It is certainly a change from my last position. Though not an entirely unwelcome one.”  
Jean-Luc felt his conclusion snap into place even as he spoke. With a heavier, more dangerous, note in his voice, he added  
“Not an entirely welcome one, either.” It was no question. She blushed and glanced down at her lap. “You were accustomed to traditional discipline aboard the Endeavour, is that correct?”  
“Yes Sir”  
“And that.. helped you to find your place?”  
Her blush deepened. He knew he shouldn’t be enjoying this but still a part of his mind way praying to any entity that would hear him that they should not be disturbed right now. “Rebeya?” he coaxed  
“Yes Sir. That helped me find my place”  
“Very well” he closed  
“Sir?” She looked up suddenly, eyes awash with confusion and.. something more. Relief? Hope? Arousal? He did not wish to consider too deeply  
“Dismissed”  
“Sir?” she repeated, quieter this time, more curious.  
“Thank you Anders, that is all”  
She rose shakily from the chair, nodded again,  
“Sir.” She closed. Turning around and exiting.  
Picard let out a long sigh as the doors swished shut behind her.

What had he just set in motion?


	2. Intervention

“The Bridge is yours Number 1. Anders you’re with me” Picard commanded turning and leaving the bridge. He sensed the watchful eyes of Troi and Riker as he walked. Both of whom, in their various ways, he suspected to be well aware of the tension that resided in him that afternoon. Rightly, too. It was no light matter to reconsider a decision such as this. 

In the process of reaching his recent conclusion he had been forced to examine the reasons he risked so much, so early in his career by refusing to uphold the tradition of physical discipline. Much to his chagrin he had found there a complex array of emotions; connections to ancient earth customs, and erotic overtones as stumbled across as a young man in the academy. In private moments he had unearthed a number of autobiographical accounts and a range of fictional literature under the guise of ‘research’, some of which had since made a more permanent home in his personal library. History, however ancient, that had since rooted itself very firmly in the Captain's present and blurred the line between the essential act of discipline and of power, yielding, and pleasure.

Once in his ready room, he turned to Anders who stood less confidently near the doorway. Alone, decision made, he allowed his thoughts to settle into the concept of pleasure unbidden. The anticipation enveloped him like warm honey and he found himself standing broader, legs a fraction further apart, shoulders down, chest and chin raised. Finally, in a voice so laden with meaning that it momentarily surprised even him, he said a single word.  
“Kneel”

He had concluded that upon hearing this command one of two things would become clear. She would rebel, or comply instantly. It was so simple. The stressor he had been seeking was no more than this one word. To position her between pride and authority, between negotiation and compliance, it was all that was needed for him to understand her. 

He watched as, not missing a beat, she slid gracefully to her knees; an elegant position, samurai style. There was strength in her submission. He marvelled.  
She looked.. peaceful? Vastly more capable, in command of herself. He wondered to himself, is this what the old discipline fostered? Had his early rejection of it been a mistake?

“Beautiful” He whispered, almost unknowingly. She didn’t look up from her position, head bowed, eyes lowered. But he saw her hairline jump as if her eyebrows raised, surprised, in response to his comment.

They waited. 

Jean-Luc knew he had done enough. The experiment was over. He had his answer. He knew the measure of his Lieutenant and was entirely comfortable that in times of danger she would be an excellent asset as long as there was a strong enough commander to lead her. He could end this now. Should. Yet she fascinated him. Seeing her kneeling there drew from him all kinds of impulses; his rational mind bombarded him with seemingly violent scenarios but his instinct knew that the violence had nuance; knew that it was possible for pain and powerlessness to be consensual. Kind. Even needed.

Need. The word rang in his head. He had felt more primal than he recalled ever feeling just watching her slide to her knees unquestioning. So strong. So capable. And so willing to let it all go for him. 

The silence began to echo in his ears.  
“Rebeya” his voice was quiet, but unyielding  
“Sir” she didn’t look up  
“I was trained, as all Starfleet Captains are, in the rituals you are used to. I haven’t entered into one in many years. For most they seem barbaric, archaic and frankly a waste of time and energy.” He studied her reaction “But for the first time, I see before me an individual for whom the system works. And, after serious contemplation, I think it best for the smooth running of this ship for me to make an exception of you. Do you understand?”  
“I think so, Sir”  
“I mean to break you, Rebeya. Riker has been informed that you will not be returning to your duties today. You will remain with me as long as you can stand to at which time Counselor Troi and Dr Crusher will take you to your quarters.” He paused. “Not all our future meetings will take this format. However, you have been on The Enterprise for eight earth weeks. Am I correct to assume you are unaccustomed to going this long without” he paused to choose a term “interventions?”  
“Yes, Sir. That is correct”  
“How many have you missed?”  
“3, Sir.”  
Picard nodded. “Raise your head and look at me.” She did. He softened his voice  
“You understand what you’re entering into?”  
“Yes, Sir”  
“What limits had been put in place for your previous interventions?”  
“With all due respect, Sir, my previous Commander acted by the book. Discipline sessions were done by rote. If it was what I needed, it was by chance..” Picard frowned  
“What aren’t you saying?” He instinctively chose the voice and intonation he was rapidly learning she responded best to.  
“Sorry, Sir. The interventions, as you name them, in my previous post were oblivious to the needs of their target. Everyone received the same, no matter what they could take”  
“I see. I asked you about your limits. You are telling me, that you don’t know. That you have not been challenged?” He couldn’t keep the crack of arousal out of his voice. This was so dangerous, he felt floodgates opening and more than ever previously he was convinced that he avoided this for so long simply because it was such a powerful calling. His entire body felt tense, poised. He looked at the woman in front of him and wanted to beat her black and blue. The idea repulsed him intellectually; he recoiled at himself while yet undeniably feeling the hot, heavy weight of his arousal grow with every interchange.  
She simply nodded.

Another pause and then, like the first flash of lightening calls the storm, he stepped towards her and pulled her roughly to stand. Using the weight of his body he pushed her against the wall, back to the room, forcibly positioned both of her hands against the wall and kicked her feet apart to a stable position. 

He ran a hand over her hair, down her braid, past the curve of her back and over her ass. He lifted the skirt of her uniform, tugged her underwear aside and exposed her buttocks to the air. She was silent, her breathing shallow but clear. *smack* The sound of his palm against her buttock made them both jump, his hand tingled in response to the red flush that covered her pale skin. Second and third blows followed, a tidy rhythm of slaps and gasps and two sets of breath as they fed on each others need. Picard recognised the overwhelming realisation that he had always known a part of him belonged in this role. The power, the physical burn of the exertion, the flesh beneath him growing warmer and more pliant. His heart ached, his biceps burned, his cock throbbed and he could barely stop himself long enough to step back and admire his work. Bright red buttocks, with some visible hand prints, telling specks of nascent bruises to rise overnight and a dark patch on her panties which betrayed her as surely as his erection did him.  
He spun her around and crushed his chest to hers, looking down into her green eyes. What he saw there confirmed it. She was warm, but she was nowhere near done. He dragged his body from hers before he derailed the task entirely and took a tawse from the drawer.  
“Bend over the desk” he growled.  
This was no longer regulation. This was straight out of the hidden fantasies of a younger Jean-Luc. With an aggression and instinct that he would spend many future nights revisiting in fear and arousal, he raised the tool and slammed it against the curve of her bottom. The power behind his first blow split the skin, and, finally, as he watched the blood form droplets along the wound, he saw the tension in her abate.  
“Five more” he commanded  
Slowly, blow by blow, he striped blood across her buttocks and upper thighs. Three to the left, Three to the right. 

By the time he’d finished he was wiping sweat of his brow, and she the silently shed tears from her cheeks. His dick screamed at him, her position over the desk was angled so perfectly, it would be so easy to bury himself in her, so gloriously satisfying, but that’s not what this was for, he was Captain Picard, not Jean-Luc in this capacity. He had a duty of care. Snapping his attention back to Rebeya he drew the last ounce of strength to half carry her to the bed. She lay, dazed, heavy-lidded in his arms and they did not speak.

Full of want, guilt and confusion Captain moved his hand to his communicator and called for Troi and Crusher. His other hand found a few strands of hair which had come lose during the ‘intervention’ and absently ran his fingers through them. As he felt the urgency of his arousal abating, and his heartrate retuning towards normal he watched as she seemed to fall asleep. Concerned that this would not be a usual reaction he shook her shoulders gently, wondering if drawing blood was a step too far.. quietly, so quietly he wasn’t sure he’d heard it, she muttered a single word.

Just then Troi and Crusher bustled in and took over. He avoided the Doctors eyes but could not miss Troi pausing to look at him with a mixture of surprise and concern. He suspected, if she had sensed a fraction of what had gone on in that room over the previous hour, he would be hearing much more from her once Rebeya was safe. Crusher tutted and frowned as she tended to the wounds. Picard did not intervene, or comment. They carried her out, and he held eye contact with Rebeya as long as he could. As the doors swished closed behind them he collapsed exhausted into his chair. Overwhelmed by feelings he was not prepared for.


End file.
